Every 6 days
by Colta
Summary: Terrible summary ahead! After a long week of relaxing and no missions... Darien is in need of his regular shot of counteragent. Unfortunately, sometimes he's not always on the money with his timing. Please read and enjoy! This is my first Invisible Man story... the story is hopefully better than the summary. :P Rated T for minor curse words.


**Chapter 01**

Authors Note – Hey all! This is my first Invisible Man fanfiction. I've never written one before, to be honest... I haven't written much in a long time. So... yeah. This isn't around any specific episode, just a random little story. Hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Darien scratched idly at the small snake curled up on the inside of his wrist. Seven of its ten segments were colored an angry red; the remaining three were a cheery green… Sighing, he traced the curling body of the snake, frowning slightly at the amount of red. He had used to like the color red, had thought it was nice, masculine... now, well... it just didn't hold the same appeal to him anymore.

"Stop picking." Hobbes grumbled, taking his eyes off the road long enough to send a quick glance at his partner before he swatted gently at his partners hands.

"We'll be at the keep soon enough."

Darien sighed, his musing interrupted, he dropped his hands into his lap and leaned back into the mildly uncomfortable bench seat of Golda. Almost unconsciously he lightly dug the back of his head into the upholstered head rest. The head ache, the precipitous warning sign that quicksilver madness was slowly creeping up on him was pulsing along the back of his skull... mild and manageable for now. Luckily, they were only a few blocks away from the Agency, and by extension, the Keep. If only this damn traffic would speed up.

He'd been lucky Hobbes had decided to swing by and pick him up this morning… it was the day for his scheduled shot of counter-agent. But, as it happened some weeks, he was a bit closer then normal to going red eye. He'd driven himself to the Keep in this state before, but having Hobbes drive… it allowed him to concentrate on keeping calm, gave him a distraction from the nagging headache, the increasingly bad temper and… and he was loath to admit this to himself, it kept him from wandering off and just not going in.

"Gotta say Hobbes, as much as I appreciate the drive… this was not how I wanted to start my morning." Darien stated conversely, a hand rising to rub the back of his neck. The headache had kicked up another notch. Glancing again at his tattoo, Darien was relieved to see he was still at three green.

Almost as if in response to his griping, the pain in his head suddenly spiked. Groaning out loud and gripping the back of his head with both hands… Darien leaned forward; eyes squeezed shut tightly against the demands the gland was putting on his system.

A large hand rubbed his shoulder gently, Hobbes lending what support he could through the light touch. There was no need to pain yet, just the gland sending off some somewhat unpleasant warning signals to his friend.

"Easy partner… just breath. How're we doing? Still three green?"

Darien eased back, letting go of the tight grip on his neck and breathing out deeply. The sudden spike had eased up, but his headache had again gotten worse. Already he could feel little; random feelings of irritation, elation… his thoughts were already beginning to flit around with a bit less sense and control. It was manageable, but just another reminder of how tenuous his grip on his sanity could be… how soon he could potentially turn into a raging lunatic, hell bent on only self gratification and mayhem.

Opening his eyes, Darien squinted lightly against the bright morning sun and glanced once again at his tattoo.

"Yup, still three green… but not much longer until we're down to two. Gonna get nasty soon partner." Turning his head to look at his partner, Darien was relieved to see his calm demeanor. For all the insanity (literally) and crap he'd put Hobbes through during his unfortunately often bouts of quicksilver madness, Hobbes was never nervous… never scared of him when things got rough. It was probably why, as they'd become closer friends, the physical and verbal attacks during QSM had diminished. Now, for the most part… Darien seemed to merely goad and attempt to get Hobbes to join in on his mayhem.

Hobbes nodded at his assessment, sending another glance Darien's way.

"If this damn morning traffic would ease up then we'd be there already." Hobbes to the opportunity to honk his horn at an annoying driver who'd just cut him off.

"I'm not sure we're gonna make it in time Hobbes." Darien studied the road a head of them. Of all the times for there to be construction tie ups… He was already pushing this morning as is... he should have been in the Keep and receiving his shot by now... so to push it longer, to have to wait and be surrounded by so many people. If he did go nutso in the van, it wasn't going to be a pretty sight.

Hobbes shrugged. "It'll be alright Fawkes… worst case scenario, I just cuff you to the door, and we'll be fine. Keep already knows we're coming in hot."

Darien nodded his agreement, clamping down viciously on the little bit of rebellious anger that sprung up at the idea of being in hand cuffs.

"Yeah, I suppose that would…"

Darien was cut off as white hot, blinding pain erupted from the back of his skull. Hands flying to the nape of his neck, digging into the skin with his fingers in a vain attempt to quell the pain.

Arcing his body forward, head digging into the seat, Darien let out a muffled cry of pain, his eyes screwed shut.

"Damn it Fawkes!" Bobby growled, looking helplessly between the slowly moving traffic and his partner. Darien's face was a picture of agony. The sharply corded muscles of his neck stood out against his partners suddenly paled skin. His knees had come up, feet pressing into the battered dashboard of Golda.

Reaching out, Bobby gripped his partners arm, trying to hold him into the seat. Darien was writhing against the weathered upholstery, his body reacting without thought to the harsh demands the gland was putting on his body.

The attack seemed to go on forever; little fingers of agony were ricocheting through his head. His muscles, strained against the pain the gland was dishing out, twitched and trembled with the effort.

Voices, no louder than a whisper, but loud enough to cut through the maelstrom of pain, called to him… spoke of rage and restlessness.

"C'mon Fawkes! Easy buddy… just fight through it." Vaguely, Darien became aware of Bobby's voice and touch. There was a firm grip around his bicep, anchoring him to the here and now. And slowly, the pain receded… not all the way, but into something vaguely manageable.

"Hobbes…" Darien ground out, slowly slumping into the seat, hands massaging his face and neck.

The grip on his arm shifted to grab his opposite wrist, twisting it. Both men observed the tattoo, now showing only two green segments remaining.

"Aw Crap"

Authors Note – Thanks a lot for reading, I'll have chapter 2 out shortly.


End file.
